


little rays of her eternal sunshine

by alittlebitunwell



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26417953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlebitunwell/pseuds/alittlebitunwell
Summary: "It’s not an unfamiliar routine, the overwhelming thoughts about Judy, the hiding in her room, the sleepless nights wondering. She thinks of all the love she has for this one tiny odd person, her best friend - no, best friend is no longer enough - her fucking better half, because she can’t do this anymore, living without Judy."Jen is scared to lose Judy, so she finds a way to cope with her feelings.
Relationships: Judy Hale & Jen Harding, Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 13
Kudos: 75





	1. to keep her

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in forever, sorry if this is bad.  
> Thank you @JeremyBearimy for making this somewhat readable <3

It’s not meant to be a _thing_ , when she starts. It’s not supposed to be a thing _now_. But when Jen opens the damn notebook for the third time that day, she has to declare defeat and admit this is a little bit more than nothing, what she’s doing.

The first time she writes about Judy, it’s not really a memory she likes to keep. _You can die_ were the words she had just said to her. Her heart immediately begging for Jen to take it back, but the anger that consumed her so much louder and in control. She ran to her bedroom that night, wanting to throw everything in sight to the ground. She needed a cigarette first. She reached for the top drawer in her nightstand, opened it looking for one. She found instead the piece of paper she’d never had the heart to throw away. The fucking number and the fucking name that started it all.

She remembered dialing Judy’s number, one by one, every night for an entire week. She was not one to save a stranger’s contact on her phone like that. And she did not plan on having Judy become anything other than an acquaintance. She was just a distraction from her insomnia. It didn’t matter how sweet she was, or understanding, or funny. Or that Jen actually missed talking to her during the day. A week later, with the number memorized by heart - to this day, even - and Judy’s name finally on her phone, she had to accept this weird little pot fairy wasn’t going anywhere.

Oh, how she regretted that now. She picked up the paper to rip it apart, but a pen in the drawer caught her attention. _FUCKING HOMEWRECKING LIAR_ , she wrote, right over Judy’s lovely handwriting. For that small moment it felt like the closure she needed. She slid to the floor right where she stood, her back to the bed, nightstand drawer opened and the piece of paper smashed in her hand like Judy had done to her heart. That night, nothing moved but Jen’s body shaking with sobs.

What makes Jen write about Judy again is a lot different. The hurt, the secrets, all left behind. She’s even written a whole letter _to_ Judy that one time, but this is something else. This is for herself. For when Judy laughs with all her being, and Jen wishes she could capture that ridiculous sound of carefreeness to play it on eternal loop. _She laughs at my Brooklyn accent_ , she writes. For when Judy hugs her tight, face buried in her neck, and Jen can’t think of anything else that feels what it feels like to be held by her person. _Her hugs smell like almonds now, I guess she likes the vegan shampoo I got her._ For when Judy has her hair up and Jen tries to memorize every detail of where her sharp jawline ends and her soft neck begins. _She should wear a ponytail more often._

It starts on a day like any other. Their little family of four lying on the couch watching a movie after dinner, like they do every Friday night - nobody has to wake up early in the morning. Right in the beginning of the movie, one of the animated characters dies and Henry starts crying.

“Of course. Nice. Why the fuck do they have to kill somebody’s mother in every kids movie ever.” Jen rolls her eyes. Before she can reach Henry, Judy, who was sitting next to Charlie on the opposite side of the couch, is already next to him stroking his hair, saying better comforting words than she can ever find. The scene is endearing, but Jen can’t help it but laugh when she hears the high pitch in Judy’s voice and realizes she’s crying too.

“It’s okay! His mom will find her way back to him, just like your dad did to you, right?” Judy says. Charlie snorts at that and Jen kicks his leg, but Henry calms down a little.

Jen looks at the two cuddling next to her and it warms her heart, how similar they are, her two precious humans. Henry and Judy. Both so sensitive and kind, matching energies as if they belong to one another. _You did not just think about their energies, Jen._ She throws glances at the movie once in a while but she’s not paying any attention now. She can only think of - and stare a little - her dearest friend. How lucky she is to have found someone like Judy, or better yet, someone like Judy finding her. The only one to soothe the fear and the rage that ruled Jen’s heart, the one to fix the gaps that kept her family divided, to bring unconditional love and joy to their every day, even if she was once responsible for some of the chaos. Judy is the Sun that shone its way through her curtains, covered her walls with light and took away the dark.

And suddenly it’s too much. Jen’s too overwhelmed with her fucking feelings and Charlie is laughing again, but this time he’s looking at her.

“Are you seriously crying too? You really need to stop hanging out with Judy so much.” He teases.

“Yep. I’m really upset about the, uh... Fish Mom dying. So sad.” Jen quickly wipes away the tears that she didn’t realize were falling and stares straight at the TV, avoiding Judy’s curious eyes looking at her, searching. It doesn’t take long until she can’t take it anymore and excuses herself.

“Jen?” Judy touches her arm, all worry in her eyes.

“I just forgot to check some emails. Don’t worry.” Jen smiles reassuringly, then leaves.

Jen rushes to her bedroom, throws herself on the bed and stares at the ceiling. It’s not an unfamiliar routine, the overwhelming thoughts about Judy, the hiding in her room, the sleepless nights _wondering_. She thinks of all the love she has for this one tiny odd person, her best friend - no, best friend is no longer enough - her fucking better half, because she can’t do this anymore, living without Judy. And that’s what fuels the ugly crippling fear that consumes her in every moment of quiet. The truth is Jen feels, _knows_ , this is something too precious for her not to ruin, whatever it is they have. She sees Judy leaving her eventually, so clearly. She doesn’t know yet the how, the why or the when, but she knows it’s coming and it’s going to be her fault. All she can do is wait.

For now, she tries to remember her. Jen studies every moment, every word, every look of Judy, devoted to never letting her mind forget a single part of this person that heals her. She immerses herself in Judy’s presence and bathes in the comfort. She can’t _not_ think about her beauty, how it reflects her inner self so perfectly. Her soft glowy skin, the lines that surround her smile, the shape of her body, - Jen really tries to not focus on that, but her mind betrays her - those big brown eyes that shine so bright they could melt her entirely. Jen wishes she was an artist like Judy to depict her with the marvel she deserves. To keep her forever. Though it doesn’t matter if she’s not able to put it on paper, as the image of Judy is most certainly the magnum opus of her mind.

Jen thinks about that night, when everything fell apart, _almost_ , and she thought she had lost Judy forever. She remembers the strange relief of writing those three awful words in the small piece of paper that had Judy’s number. Maybe that could work again - with a much sweeter sentiment this time. She looks around trying to find anything she can write on, but pauses. That doesn’t feel right. Judy deserves her effort. She then knows exactly what she needs.

Jen grabs one of her bags in the closet, takes a package covered with stars inside and carefully unwraps it to find the dark blue notebook she bought some days before. It’s made of recycled paper with a delicate illustration on the cover of two fishes going in opposite directions and a small constellation shaped like a “V”.

The memory is fresh in her mind. She was walking by the shore after a long day of showing houses in the area, when she spotted a small stand of what could best be described by Jen as esoteric crap. The exact kind that would’ve made her cross the street to avoid, two years ago. But now, she stopped by. Because _apparently_ this was Jen now, the type of person that recognized incense names and unironically asked “What are these for” pointing to the stones on display. The vendor, all fringes and flowers and sandals - Jen wondered if she was Judy’s long lost sister, though she lacked her charm - explained they were related to astrology. The girl noticed Jen cringing when asked about her sign, definitely out of her comfort zone there. She then smiled and offered, “Are you thinking of someone special?”

Back on her bed, a pen and the notebook in hand, Jen thinks of whether she should really use the gift that was meant for Judy, the one that took her long indecisive minutes to settle for in the middle of so many Judy-like souvenirs, until deciding it was better to get something her friend could actually use - at least that’s her excuse for buying Judy a gift unprompted like that. It’s not like that would be a weird thing to do, they _are_ close friends, and friends can give each other gifts with no actual motive. But for some reason, Jen finds herself overthinking her actions towards Judy more often than not. And that’s why days have passed and the notebook has never left the bag. Jen simply never finding the right moment or words to do it.

_It’s okay_ , she decides. She can just take the used page off before giving it to Judy. So she opens the notebook and lets herself feel everything, all confused thoughts in her head. It takes her just a moment to know exactly what to write.

_She is my everything._

Words start to fill the pages of the notebook pretty quickly in the following weeks.

Jen doesn’t speak about it. Judy doesn’t get her gift.


	2. new friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy makes a new friend and Jen writes about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw me taking a whole month to update this no you didn't.  
> The next chapters won't take so long! I have at least one more ready :)

Jen is surprised at how relaxed she feels in the middle of a weekday. Normally around this time she would be taking a second painkiller for her stress induced migraine, definitely with a much stronger drink in her hand. Yet here she is resting in one of the chairs outside, sipping some deliciously fresh lemonade that she made herself, sighing in contentment just because. She’s watching Judy and Henry run all over the backyard playing with Adele, Christopher’s dog - he’s out of town and they’re pet sitting - and she can’t think of a single worry she’s ever had.

Jen isn’t sure who was more excited to come home and play with the dog when she picked them up after work and school.

“Don’t get any ideas, okay? We are _not_ getting a dog.” She warned Henry from the driver’s seat, making a point to look at Judy as well, before she even tried.

Adele is bigger now than when they first met her, but still young enough to be full of energy, making them all busy from the moment they’ve arrived home. The dynamic between Judy and her youngest is enough to always bring a smile to Jen’s face, but at the moment she’s particularly fond of the sight of Judy playing with a puppy. She’s noticed it before, how Judy gets with animals. She treats them with such kindness that it’s almost too pure, like she truly understands them. And the way Judy is looking at the dog right now? It’s only softer when she holds a baby. _Fuck_ , _she needs to write about this._

It’s hard to not immediately write down every silly little thing Judy says or does, not when she’s that precious, but Jen tries her best to be discreet. She’s still not exactly sure of what she’s doing with that notebook, but it’s rather cathartic to let her feelings out, somehow - and if maybe all of those feelings are related to Judy, that’s no one else’s business.

Jen goes inside to refill their drinks and possibly sneak out to her room to write. She’s still in the kitchen when Judy comes inside, her left arm outstretched.

“Jen, look! I made a new friend.”

Just then Jen notices the weirdest looking bug she’s ever seen on her friend’s arm. It’s too big, green and she can’t find its eyes, but can definitely spot wings and one too many legs. She rushes away immediately. 

“Holy shit, Judy. What the fuck is this thing, take it back.”

“It’s okay! He’s sweet, look.” Judy places her arm on the counter and the bug slowly moves towards it. “I’m gonna call him Joe.”

“Of course you will.” Jen moves again to the opposite direction in which the bug is going. “Seriously, Judy, this thing is huge. It looks like a freaking alien or something.”

“Don’t say that, he might be sensitive about his appearance.” Judy mocks disapproval then laughs, clearly enjoying Jen’s vulnerability to her small new friend.

Jen calms down when the insect stops moving around. She watches as Judy wiggles her finger in front of it, trying to get a reaction. Jen can’t help it but smile. She thinks of long ago, when she told Judy they weren’t in a Disney movie, but in a horror film. Right now, she can clearly picture the castles and sparkles.

“You’re fucking Snow White, you know that?” Jen blurts out.

“I am? Why?”

“You know, with the animals and all. It’s like they’re drawn to you. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I just treat them nice.” Judy smiles. She thinks for a while, then adds, “If I’m Snow White then you must be Grumpy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Henry is Happy, of course. And Charlie… Sleepy, I guess? No, wait! Charlie is definitely Grumpy. Who are you?”

“I’m the Old Hag.”

“Don’t say that!” Judy seems genuinely upset for a moment, until her expression changes with mischief. “You can be my _Princess_ Charming. Save me with a kiss?” she leans forward over the counter, closes her eyes and pouts.

“Shut up.” Jen laughs and playfully pushes Judy’s face to the side, pretending to not notice how fast her heart is suddenly beating.

“No?” Judy pauses to think and Jen wants to write about the way her eyebrows come close together as if she’s angry, or the little pout that forms in her mouth, when she concentrates on something so absolutely silly like that.

“Oh! I know. You’re the Evil Queen.” Judy gasps. “She’s so hot.”

“God. Yeah, and she wants to kill you, so I guess that’s right.”

Judy grabs a spoon and holds it like it’s a mirror.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” she recites dramatically. “Who is the fairest of us all?” She turns the spoon to Jen and gasps in fake surprise.

“Nope. I think your mirror is broken.” Jen tries to be serious, but can’t hold a laugh.

Unfazed, Judy continues, still holding the spoon in Jen’s direction. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the prettiest of-”

“We’ve been through this. _Not_ me.”

“The smartest...”

“Not really.”

“The most amazing person...”

“Okay.”

“The hottest.”

“Jude.”

“The sexiest.” Judy says in a lower tone, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Ew.”

“The… badass-est?”

“Okay, that’s enough now.” Jen takes the spoon from Judy’s hand, who looks back at her like a kicked puppy.

“Can you please just take the compliment for once?” 

Jen sighs. She knows that even joking, Judy means every word. She doesn’t understand what it is that she did to make Judy see her the way she does. Like she’s more than a failed mother and wife. Like she can be fun and interesting and clever. Like she matters. And though it’s hard for Jen to admit it, sometimes, when it comes from Judy’s mouth, she actually believes it.

“Thank you.” She only hopes Judy can understand everything else she means behind these two words.

Maybe Judy does, because she circles the counter and pulls Jen into a warm hug. “I love you.”

Just like that, after two long minutes have passed and neither of them have moved away from the embrace, the playfulness of the moment is gone. Perhaps it’s the way Judy is caressing Jen’s back, slow and gentle strokes up and down, or the satisfied hum she lets away when Jen holds her just a little bit tighter, but Jen doesn’t feel the urge to write this time. Here in Judy's arms, she’s not scared at all to lose her, desperate to register every one of her movements. For once she thinks it’s gonna be okay, if she says out loud what she’s feeling.

Jen is not sure of what exactly she has to say. What she _wants_ to say. But she pulls away just enough to be face to face with Judy, who’s looking at her like she’s already read every thought inside of her head. 

As Jen finally opens her mouth to speak, the bug, _fucking Joe_ , flies directly to her direction. She’s not _that_ scared of insects, but the meticulously calculated timing of the green creature - _honestly, that was on purpose_ , Jen is sure, - makes her jump away from their hug and scream louder than intended. Judy bursts out laughing at the ridiculousness of the scene, but still shouts “Don’t hurt him!” when Jen waves her arms desperately trying to make it go away.

“I swear to God, Judy, fucking take the fucking alien monster away. And stop bringing these fucking things inside!” Jen yells while she runs across the room to hide. The contrast of Jen’s commands and attitude only makes Judy laugh harder, but she does her best to trap Joe in a bowl and finally take him outside.

* * *

Jen finally finds a moment to herself before dinner, when Judy is cooking downstairs. She gets her notebook and writes.

_She’s fucking Snow White and I need to get her a pet ASAP._

She makes a mental note to look it up if one can adopt hamsters. Or rabbits. Anything small. Jen likes cats and dogs like any other person, but she can barely handle taking care of two boys and a Judy. A small fluffy animal would be ideal, she supposes.

Jen looks back at the notebook and thinks about the moment she shared with Judy earlier in the kitchen, when they were hugging. After the whole fiasco with _Joe_ , Judy went back to play with Henry and Jen cursed herself for ruining whatever was happening between them. Now, in the quiet of her room, the thoughts spin too quick in her head. Jen closes the notebook and decides it’s best to not think about what could’ve happened or what she would have said. She’s too much of a coward to follow that thread. She and Judy? They are perfect just like that, with their unbreakable bond and platonic mothering team. Jen doesn’t need any more than that. At all.

She opens her laptop instead and types in the search toolbar, “Big green alien-looking insects in Laguna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


	3. not hiding it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen worries about getting caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone reading this. Hope it's cute enough <3

It’s early in the afternoon of a lazy Sunday when Jen almost gets caught - not that she’s doing anything wrong, she thinks. It’s not embarrassing to write ( _and_ think _and_ dream) about her friend every single day. She’s like, super chill about it. Whatever.

They’re both sitting on the stools by the counter, finishing the bottle of wine they had opened for lunch. The boys busy in their own separate worlds upstairs.

“I forgot to ask. Do you have an unused notebook around that I can use to write my recipes?” Judy is the one to interrupt their comfortable silence. She’s swinging her legs - that don’t reach the ground - and gives Jen a sorry look, as if she’s being an annoyance. _Adorable_ , Jen thinks.

“The one I have is full. I used the last page this morning when I came up with that coconut cake. I’m glad I wrote it down actually, Henry loved it so much.”

“It _was_ fucking delicious, I had like three slices. You really have to stop baking so many cakes.” Jen thinks about the struggle that was to put on her jeans the other day. “Why don’t you just write the recipes on your phone?”

“Oh, I do it when I need to write it down immediately to not forget it. But I put them on paper later.”

“Why? That seems like a lot of work.”

Judy considers her answer for a moment, but just says, “Yeah, never mind. You’re right.” And there it is, the one smile Jen knows too well appears on her face. The one that would seem genuine to anyone else, but Jen knows better. And she understands this is something Judy has been made fun of before, talked down to make her feel less, unimportant. Jen feels the anger warming up her body. She wants to ask Judy who the fuck did this - she has her obvious suspects - and tell her exactly what the fuck she would do to them. But it’s a lovely day today, and Judy is particularly chipper in her bright yellow flowery dress, her hair loose and wild, the sunshine of her presence leaving a trace wherever she passes. So Jen leaves that conversation for later. Instead, she offers.

“What is it?”

“It’s okay, really. It’s silly.”

“You being silly? Never heard of it.” Jen teases, getting a little laugh from Judy. “C’mon, just tell me.”

This time she gets a real smile from Judy, the excitement building up on her face. “Okay. You know, this?” She points to nowhere specific in the kitchen. “Cooking. Baking. I feel like it’s just another way to express my art. It did start out of necessity, but it quickly became something else for me, like an energetic shift. Especially after I started painting and got more connected with my creativity. I get _so_ inspired and” - Judy stops herself when she realizes she’s getting way into it and looks at Jen to see if she’s being judged, but all she finds is the familiar awe that appears in Jen’s eyes every time she talks about something she’s passionate about. That makes Judy blush. “I feel like writing the recipe is a part of the process, like drawing a sketch or adding final touches. I don’t know, I guess I’m just a very tactile artist? I need to touch and feel and connect with the things I’m doing. It’s really incredible to think about how my hands can turn whatever is in my head into something real. Feels like magic.”

Jen understands. She thinks about Judy’s hands. How electrifying it is whenever they touch her. How they make her feel like she’s burning when they hold _her_ hands. Or grab her arms. Or caress her face. How she secretly hopes they would touch every inch of skin in her body and maybe turn her into flames. Jen could call it magic too.

“Sorry, this probably sounds like bullshit.” Judy says when Jen doesn’t show an immediate reaction.

“No. That’s actually pretty accurate. I guess you do have magical hands.” Jen says playfully, but immediately regrets it when she sees the smirk forming in Judy’s lips.

Judy wiggles her fingers slowly, too inviting and revealing, and says, “Oh, you don’t know half of the magic these hands can make.” Jen chokes on her wine and Judy laughs too proud of herself, _the asshole_. Jen lets out an “Ew” as the immediate reflex she has every time Judy flirts too _knowingly_ and Jen needs to prove a point - more to herself than to her friend - that she’s definitely not into it, despite the red forming on her cheeks and the unwelcome tingle between her legs.

Judy drinks the rest of her wine and settles the glass in the sink. She points to the stairs, slowly moving towards it. “So, do you have a notebook I can borrow or...?”

“Oh, yeah, tons. I’m always getting free ones from condo companies with their logo on the cover. You can find some in the second drawer next to my bed.”

“My side or yours?”

“Mine.”

“Okay, thanks!”

As Judy leaves to find them, Jen tries not to think about how she so casually _claimed_ a side to her bed. Yes, she would sleep there most of the nights now - only because it’s been too cold lately to stay outside watching TV so late and Jen doesn’t want to risk spilling wine on her living room couch - and Judy does always lie on Jen’s left, even when she was just a sweet voice coming from her phone, patiently waiting for Jen to be “all the way asleep”. And so what if some of Judy’s lotions and jewelry, even some of her woo-woo stones, have found a permanent spot on Jen’s nightstand. The words _my side_ coming from her mouth feel different, like this little arrangement they have silently agreed on means something more. And it’s scary how much Jen enjoyed hearing that.

Crashing her thoughts like a thunder, a panic takes over Jen’s mind as she pictures Judy looking through her drawers to find her not really hidden - _why the fuck is it not hidden, you dumbass?_ \- most intimate possession. Her little notebook filled with handwritten notes of love and appreciation and hope and wonder. The pages she fills of Judy.

She puts her glass down abruptly on the counter, spilling wine all over it but not caring to wipe it away, and runs to the bedroom stumbling a bit on the steps. There she finds an oblivious Judy sprawled all over the bed, lying on her stomach, already writing in one of the three notebooks she has with her. None of them are _the one. Thank God_ , Jen thinks, her heart still rushing thanks to the running and the scare (mostly the running), though the way Judy’s dress is lifted thanks to the position she’s in, almost exposing her butt, is also contributing. As is the way she distractingly takes the tip of the pen to her mouth and bites it gently while considering a thought. When she takes a hand to her hair to brush it out of her sight, Jen tries not to think about the _magic_ Judy teased before.

Just then Judy notices Jen’s presence, who’s not quick enough to avert her eyes. Lucky her, the brunette is too in _the zone_ to notice her staring.

“Oh, hey. Can I keep all of these? They’re small and I have so many recipes to write down. They’re all empty, see?” she opens each notebook to show the blank pages, as if Jen wouldn’t trust her. “I can’t believe you don’t use them. I’m always scribbling down in whatever piece of paper I can find. Maybe it’s an artist thing.” Jen is certain Judy is the only human capable of saying these words and not sound pretentious.

“Ha. Right. I told you, I just use my phone.” Jen lets a nervous laugh out. She still wants to make sure the other didn’t find her secret - she knows Judy would be too nice to comment about it. _She doesn’t look creeped out though, that’s a good sign_.

In a bad impression of a chill version of herself, Jen sits on the bed next to her nightstand, sighs heavily and opens the first drawer. She takes out the first thing she sees, a hair tie, and starts playing with it. Judy is blabbing about how she’s going to decorate the notebooks with her hydrographic pens. No, stickers are better. Maybe both? She’ll ask Henry about it.

“So… Where did you find those?” Jen interrupts.

“Mm? Oh, in the second drawer, like you said.”

“Cool.” Jen takes a quick glance at Judy, who’s still lost in her writing, then picks up the book she keeps in the drawer more to hide her secret notebook than to actually read it. Relief takes over her when she spots the familiar blue cover under it, exactly where she had put it, intact with the truths of her heart kept safe inside.

* * *

Everyone’s asleep when she figures out where to hide the notebook. _Not hide, Jen, you’re simply putting it in a safe place._ Her drawer is too full and the pages could get crumpled, she tells herself. Because _hiding_ means it’s a secret. And if it’s a secret, it’s more than just random facts about her friend that she collects every day just in case she needs them for some reason. But she’s not ready to think about the implications of what she’s doing being a little bit more than platonic. So for now, these are just impartial information one would write to document a subject of study. Not weird at all. She wouldn’t care if anyone read it. Ish.

Jen closes the closet door before turning on the lights. Judy fell asleep in her bed again before _Facts of Life_ was over. Jen considers, one more time, using the safe in the guest house. Then quickly brushes it off, she can’t be _that_ overdramatic. She’s not hiding it, remember? So she finds the box in the corner, almost hidden under some heavy winter attire, and opens it to see the few belongings she still has of her mom, her old family and childhood. Her mother’s favorite earrings, too precious for her to ever dare to wear. A small stack of old photos. Her first ballet shoes. Jen feels her heart ache with the overwhelming presence of nostalgia that she tries so hard to avoid, the reason that keeps the box untouched most of the time and makes it too personal even for Judy to come near it, after questioning Jen about it just once. But it feels right. This is the very core of herself, the few pieces of her story that no one else has seen or put together, probably never will. And it’s the perfect place to keep her own secret piece of Judy, who already is the most precious part of Jen herself, she realizes.

Jen grabs the pen she brought in her robe’s pocket, opens the notebook and writes.

_Cooking is an expression of her art and she masters it like everything else her talent touches._

_Also her coconut cakes? Fucking delicious._

Jen thinks about something else that’s been ringing in her mind all night, begging to be added. But it feels less like the harmless data she claims to be collecting and more like the intrusive thoughts she shouldn’t be having about her friend. Two simple words almost too dirty to put on this particular paper. She ultimately decides to ignore it and stashes everything away, ready to finally go to bed. Her hand’s on the door handle when she stops, rolls her eyes and tells herself, _fuck it. You’re pathetic_.

Jen reaches for the box and the notebook again, finds the latest addition and writes underneath it. She laughs quietly to herself a few minutes later when she’s lying in bed and a sleepy Judy invades _her side_ and holds her hand.

_Magical hands =)_

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of feels for Jen having a lot of feels for Judy, okay? :(  
> 


End file.
